100

Before the sixth day of the next new year,
Strange wonders in this kingdom shall appear:
Four kings shall be assembled in this isle,
Where they shall keep great tumult for awhile.
Many men then shall have an end of crosses,
And many likewise shall sustain great losses;
Many that now full joyful are and glad,
Shall at that time be sorrowful and sad;
Full many a Christian’s heart shall quake for fear,
The dreadful sound of trump when he shall hear.
Dead bones shall then be tumbled up and down,
In every city and in every town.
By day or night this tumult shall not cease,
Until an herald shall proclaim a peace;
An herald strong, the like was never born,
Whose very beard is flesh and mouth is horn.
—WR

62

Last evening nightmares opened up my eyes—
I dreamt of politics subject to lament—
And, hands still shaking, I met a surprise
When late-night news streamed “Madam President!
Still stupefied, I searched, opened the blinds—
Looked out upon a world I saw anew!
Without Twitter tirades or fear-plagued minds,
This universe was too good to be true!
Walls crushed, bans gone, no “alternative facts,”
Gone Ryancare, and Russia, Dreadful Sound
Mike Pence is past, and Spicer can RELAX,
‘Cause big old baby Donald’s not around…
Yet when I saw no one had been offended,
Reality returned and daydreams ended.
—HM